Wheatley's First Christmas
by chickens
Summary: Back in the days of yore, The Aperture staff enjoy a holiday themed laugh at Wheatley's expense.


AN: Wow. It's been _years_, literally, since I uploaded anything here. And hey, look, I've developed GRAMMAR in the interim.

Anywho, this is a fill for the Portal Kink Meme. Takes place before the game's events. Enjoy!

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><p>"I'm done! I did it! Samson? Samson, I'm done! Hello?"<p>

The lab techs gave a collective grown as the little robot began banging on the break room door.

"Hello? Is anyone in there? If you are, could you get Samson for me? I need to talk to him. Samson? Is that you? Hello?"

"Mark, your friend's here."

"I'm on lunch," Mark slouched, his plastic chair squeaking.

"Samson? Samson? -"

Mark stood. A group of interns chuckled as he passed and he let his feet fall with heavy slaps on the linoleum.

"What?"

Wheatley zipped back on his rail an inch at the sudden replacement of the door with a scowling middle-aged man.

"I, um- Samson! I wrote my letter."

"Great. Wait. What?"

"To Santa! Remember the other day when you and Hernandez and McCournet where watching a show in McCournet's office? I heard you lot in there having a grand old time (must've been one way glass 'cause you didn't hear me asking to be let in) so I hung around outside hoping one of you might come out to use the loo or something and in the meantime I listened in on the show. It was going on about some bloke who brings people presents and I did a little research, found out where he lives, discovered that his preferred method of communication is through mail! A bit old fashioned, get with the times, right? And when I asked Florentine..."

By now Mark's colleagues had brought their coffees over to the door to listen in. Wheatley only ever did one of two things: break something, or babble hilarious stupidity. So far it didn't sound like the robot had broken anything, which meant they could safely have a laugh.

"-put the pine in a sock and dip it in milk-"

"So," Mark interrupted, " you heard about Santa and...?"

"Right! Did some research, turns out he gives people stuff for FREE! No reason! And you can submit requests and everything!"

"Wait," Earl, who had a knack for bringing Wheatley back to his tenuous points, asked, "you wrote a letter to Santa?"

"Yes!"

The crowd of humans laughed. Wheatley was used to this. It was just something humans seemed to do in the middle of conversations.

"I.D.,"

"Wheatley."

"Whatever," Mark straightened. "Santa isn't- I mean you're not-" He broke into laughter again and turned to Earl. "What do I even...?"

Earl pushed forward. "Look, sorry to disappoint you, but Santa only delivers gifts to kids."

"But I am a kid!"

Everyone was silent, waiting for the punch line.

"I mean, technically speaking, right? I'm not even a year old yet. By the way," he added as an aside, "birthday's coming up. February 31st. Be there."

Wheatley waited for the humans to stop their laughing again. Rude, really.

"I.D.,"

"Wheatley."

"Whatever. There's no such thing as-"

"Woah, woah," Earl put a hand to Mark's chest, "I want to know what the little guy wants." Turning to Wheatley, "Where's the list?"

"Copy room. Still _hot_ off the press! Can't pick it up. That's the first thing on the list, hands."

"Wait, did you type it?"

"Yup!"

"With what?"

"Difficulty."

A confused pause.

"Right! Off to the copy room. This way! And by that I meant this other way."

Nearly the entire break room followed the robot down to the cramped, beige room filled with the sound and warmth of a dozen idling machines. Wheatley zipped to the center, as far as his rail would let him go, and pointed out printer seven.

"In there, top of the pile. Just the one page, didn't want to seem greedy."

Mark took the first paper and held it up for everyone to see.

" hands

m,oree rails. won in the breakrooom plrease./

6 18 5 9 14 4 19

pusswy

; stikkers.

"Pussy?"

"You're always going on about it so I figured: 'gotta be good if Mark can't get enough!'"

Mark laughed nervously and made a point not to look over at any of his female colleagues. "A-hem... What are the numbers?"

"Code. It's a secret code." The robot's lower lid slid up in mimicry of a grin.

"What's it say?"

"Not telling! And you'll NEVER crack it, so don't even try."

General snickers.

"So!" Wheatley bobbed forward, leading the group into the hallway. "What I need you to do is stick that in an envelope, seal it up with some of your phlegm, and send it to the Antarctic."

"Uh, sure thing."

"And don't put it off, because I don't want to miss the deadline."

"Ok."

"It's very important!"

"Yup. Got it."

They were back at the break room. Wheatley stopped at the door, his rail only leading further down the corridor. The humans filed in, snorting. They must've caught a cold, there was a lot of that going around.

"Don't forget!" Wheatley called as the door swung shut. He could hear their muffled laughter and conversation through the clouded Plexiglas.

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><p>11:59:57<p>

11:59:58

11:59:59

12:00:00

His motors squeaked as his lid slipped up into a smile. He spun around and whizzed from the entrance hall. The blue light from the hanging display, showing a welcome video by day and a bouncing screensaver clock by night, followed him down the main hall until he took a right. He slowed as he came to the cafeteria. Inside, in the corner, one of the tables had been decorated with a small, plastic tree and a pitchfork-candlestick hybrid.

He paused outside the door, puffed out his side panels, and slid in.

"Hello?" Wheatley crawled along his rail, circumventing the room. He could see the lumpy shape of the of the holiday objects in the back corner. He sped up a bit, the motion setting off the lights.

He blinked.

Then again.

Maybe Santa had gone to one of the other trees.

He zipped out and up to Mr. Orland's office. He'd seen someone hang a circular tree on his door. But no, nothing. braking the door's window revealed nothing on the other side either. Nor was there anything in any of the cubicles, or the labs, or even in the manufacturing wing where all the chimneys were. After double checking the men's bathroom he trundled to a halt in a hallway on the fourth floor. Clicks and clangs echoed through the darkness, adding variation to the ever-present hum of the facility.

"Hello?"

一

"But... I've been good."


End file.
